


if it's not too late, help me breathe again

by annabeth_writes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, R Plus L Equals J, Sexual Content, and they think they're still half siblings, but sansa and jon start doing the thing before they know about it, if that's not your thing, then it's better not to read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_writes/pseuds/annabeth_writes
Summary: Prompt: Jon abandons the Night's Watch to fight for Robb. When Robb refuses to trade for his sisters, Jon executes a rescue. He gets Sansa out of King's Landing and reluctantly tells her Robb refused the trade and promised Arya to a Frey. Sansa fears she'll get married off too. She decides if she's ruined she'll be safe and convinces Jon to get a bastard on her, never expecting they'd fall in love.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 34
Kudos: 383





	if it's not too late, help me breathe again

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this way back in 2014 on an old tumblr blog but decided to go ahead and edit it to a better fic and post it here.
> 
> This is set in a canon divergent au where the WOT5K is taking much longer. No white walkers and no Dany threat, because I said so. Also Theon never went to the Iron Islands. At this point, Sansa is 17 so Robb and Jon are 20.
> 
> Title: Rescue Me - Kerrie Roberts

Sansa dreamed of her brother. Each night as she slept, Robb carved a bloody swath through the Lannisters and rescued her from her prison, delivering their heads to her with a smile on his face. In the end, her dreams were filled the wrong brother. It was Jon who came. Her bastard brother. The one person she never expected would care enough to break her from this prison. He found her in the godswood, or perhaps he had been waiting there, somehow knowing that she would seek comfort with the old gods of the North. She didn’t know which one. He was there with Ghost all the same and, in the dead of night, he spirited her away from the Red Keep.

But Sansa did not pretend to think that she was the one that Jon was there for. She never treated him all too kindly when she was younger. It was Arya that he loved. Arya, who was long gone. When she told him, it was impossible not to see the devastation in his eyes. Sansa could not help but wonder what he would have felt if it was the other way around, if Arya were there and she was gone. He wouldn’t likely give her another thought. She certainly didn't feel like she would deserve it. Sansa had only done what she thought she should, for her mother's sake. Now she saw that Jon didn't deserve such cruelty. He certainly did not ask to be born into such a situation.

It wasn’t until the third night of their flight that Jon finally told her why he was with Robb, rather than serving in the Night’s Watch. Sansa remembered the day that they left Winterfell, how he had stood with Uncle Benjen and she thought to herself that the black clothes of the Night's Watch would suit Jon quite well. They night, they were at an inn, disguised as married common folk rather than the children of Ned Stark. Sansa kept a hood over her hair when they were not alone, knowing that it would likely get them recognized easier than anything else.

“I left the Wall before I took my vows. Robb accepted me into his army and gave me a place on his council. I offered him the best advice that I could and I mostly agreed with his decisions until—”

Jon cut off, glancing over at her with uncertainty where she sat next to him on the small cot.

“Until?” Sansa pushed, wanting to know what he did not want to say.

“Until we captured the Kingslayer," Jon said warily, looking away from her. "Your mother wanted to trade him for you and Arya. I agreed.”

Sansa let out a small, bitter laugh, earning a questioning look.

“It is perhaps the first time you and my mother have agreed on anything," she explained.

Jon did not argue, though a small frown formed on his face. Sansa felt a deep stab of guilt and knew that the wounds of their childhood had yet to heal. If she got the chance, and when she could find the right words, she would apologize to him. But for now, she would let him speak.

“Robb’s bannermen didn't think that two girls were worth trading the life of Jaime Lannister. They thought they could get much more out of the queen and Lord Tywin.”

Dread settled within Sansa’s chest, cold and aching. She already knew where this was going.

“Robb refused to trade him for us, didn’t he?” she whispered.

Jon nodded, swallowing hard and giving her a pitying look. Sansa inhaled sharply as tears burned her eyes. Though she tried to keep from crying, it was too hard as everything that had happened over the last few years bore down on her. A startled laugh escaped from her lips that quickly gave way to a deep sob. He reached out hesitantly but she moved away from him, turning her head.

“Could you leave me alone? Just for a while?” Sansa choked out, not wanting him to see her at her weakest.

Jon hesitated, glancing at the door.

“It’s not safe, Sansa. I really shouldn’t leave you.”

She nodded as she turned over, lying on her side atop the bed. Her tears soaked into the pillow as she let the deep feeling of sadness settle into her. If it weren’t for Jon, she would still be in King’s Landing, possibly forever. Her father kept Theon as a hostage after the Greyjoy Rebellion. It was entirely possible that Sansa would have been a hostage for the rest of her days if her brother lost the war. When Jon’s hand settled on her shoulder gently, Sansa shuddered at the feeling. It had been so long since someone touched her without malicious intent. Not months. _Years._

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding as if he was apologizing for many reasons.

Sansa reached up, gripping his hand in hers.

“Thank you,” she replied, grateful to him for many reasons more.

*****

As they rested by a stream, Sansa sat on a log watching Jon adjust the straps of the saddle.

“I heard that Robb was married,” she said quietly, picking at a stale piece of bread that they kept from their stay at the inn three nights ago.

Jon nodded, patting the horse’s head.

“To a Westerlands girl, Jeyne Westerling. He was initially betrothed to a Frey in exchange for passage across the Twins but…”

Sansa looked up at him with surprise as he sat on the log next to her.

“Robb broke the betrothal?” she said, aghast at the thought.

Jon nodded, knowing as well as her that it was a dishonorable thing to do.

“He laid with the girl when he was in the Crag and thought it more dishonorable to leave her behind.”

Sansa shook her head, wondering who her beloved brother had become. Someone she could hardly recognize, in truth.

“How will he make it right with House Frey?” she wondered aloud.

She knew well that Walder Frey was not a man who would forgive such a debt. Her mother's stories never did recall a kind man.

“Arya is betrothed to a Frey as well. I’d imagine that Robb will try to substitute his marriage with others.” Jon said vaguely, though his words were easy enough to decipher.

Sansa knew exactly what he meant. She let out a heavy sigh and closed her eyes and tried not to feel furious at her brother. She was unsuccessful once again.

“He would use me to fix his mistakes after what he’s done,” she whispered, more than a bit of resentment in her voice.

Jon didn’t reply and when she opened her eyes, she saw his shadowed gaze fixed on her. There was something deep in his eyes that had her reaching towards him. Sansa’s hand ghosted over his face, her fingers stroking the dark hair on his jaw.

“You are angry with him as well,” she realized, her eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, unmoving beneath her touch.

“He chose his pride over his family. I cannot agree with that,” Jon finally said.

Sansa nodded, pulling away from him.

“I don’t know that I can ever forgive him,” she admitted.

Jon did not say a word in rebuke, reaching out to take her hand. Sansa let him, lacing her fingers through his and letting the touch comfort her.

*****

They were a sennight or so away from Riverrun when she came to him with her decision. As they journeyed, she went through every possible option that might prevent another betrothal. Sansa did not trust any man that they could offer her. Joffrey seemed wonderful and turned out to be rotten. Sansa had little faith that any man, much less one of House Frey, could be any different. Any man, except for the one that rescued her. Each time she thought of it, her mind went back to Cersei’s words in Maegor’s Holdfast.

_Tears aren’t a woman’s only weapons. The best one is between your legs. Learn how to use it._

Jon seemed to know that something had changed as soon as she pulled him onto the inn’s bed next to her. Her hand took his, her fingers tracing over the veins on his forearm.

“I have been thinking… about marriage.” Sansa admitted.

“I'm certain Robb will make a good match for you. The Freys wouldn’t dare mistreat the sister of the King in the North,” he assured her, as if the words alone would ease her fears.

Sansa frowned at him, wishing that he could see it. That he could understand. But no man could. They had little to fear from marriage.

“I won’t be getting married to any Frey, Jon. I know how it works. An unmarried woman should prove her virtue to her husband. If I have been dishonored—”

“Have you?” he cut her off, his eyes growing wide.

Jon never thought to ask her if something like that happened to her in King’s Landing. Perhaps he did not want to know the answer. Sansa shook her head, looking away from him.

“But if I was… if there were to be a babe…”

She trailed off, looking up at him once more. It took a moment for Jon to read the rest in her eyes and he scrambled away, ripping his hands from her grasp.

“Sansa, no,” he said firmly, standing up as if he was burned by her presence at his side.

She watched as he paced the small room of the inn, running his hands through his hair and shaking his head.

“I cannot be sold off again, Jon. I would not survive it a second time,” she said desperately, tears stinging at her eyes.

“There are other ways,” he said, refusing to look at her.

“There aren’t!” Sansa cried, her voice louder than before.

She stood up and crossed the room, stopping him in his tracks. Lifting her hands, she gently cupped his cheeks and forced him to look down at her.

“Jon, this is the only way," Sansa pleaded, a tear slipping down her cheek. " _You_ saved me from King’s Landing. _You_ were the only one who came for me. I know that you wanted Arya but you still helped me. Please, I am begging you, help me once more. _Protect_ me. Give me this and I will not ask you for another thing more.”

She could see it in his eyes. Her tears weakened his resolve, but it was not enough. Wrapping his hands gently around her wrists, he pulled them away from his face and shook his head.

“We are not Targaryens."

“Jon—”

“I cannot do this, Sansa. By the old gods and the new, I will do anything else you ask of me, but not this. I will not bring a bastard into this world, not through my own sister.”

Sansa watched helplessly as he left the room, leaving her alone and shamed. Slumping against the bed as the last bit of hope slipped away from her, Sansa let the tears fall freely as she stared at the wall, knowing now that she had no escape. Whatever Robb wanted her to do, she would have little choice but to follow his commands. He was a king now. And kings did not care for the feelings of their sisters. Jon did not come back for quite some time and when he did, he smelled strongly of ale. Sansa didn’t look at him, determinedly facing the wall as she lay in the bed.

“Sansa,” he murmured, sitting next to her and putting his hand on her shoulder.

His touched burned through her dress and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend that she was asleep. Jon sighed heavily, brushing his fingers through her long hair.

“It’s wrong to even think of… you know why I can’t—” he broke off, making a frustrated and helpless noise. “I want to help you. I truly do.”

Sansa trembled beneath his touch as she held her tears in, biting down hard on her lip. Sansa understood and knew that she would visit each of the seven hells for even suggesting such a thing, right along with Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Jon was the smart one. He had his honor and he would not betray that even for her sake. When he gently eased her onto her back, not allowing her the illusion of sleep anymore, Sansa still avoided his eyes, staring over at the wall.

“Please look at me,” he said quietly.

She did not, unable to bring herself to see the disgust and disappointment in his eyes. When his fingers trailed down her cheek softly, Sansa finally glanced at him with shock, surprised by the tenderness of the gesture. What she saw in his eyes was resignation and wariness, making hope spring up within her chest. Something else that would surely damn her.

“This child will never have an easy life,” Jon said miserably.

Sansa sat up quickly, looking him in the eyes.

“I will make sure that she or he does, I promise Jon,” she whispered, reaching out to cup his cheek.

He looked at her with a torn expression.

“There is no going back from this, Sansa. This is a child’s life that you’re creating. That _we’re_ creating.”

“I know. This child is going to be my saving grace and I will make sure that they know only love.”

Sansa knew that he was close to agreement. They were talking as though it was already done, and she knew that he would not deny her again. She shifted closer to him, slipping her arms around his neck to hold him close.

“Please, Jon,” she whispered.

Sansa slid her hands into his hair, carding her fingers through the soft curls. She did not kiss him, knowing that it would be too much for either of them. Pulling away, she let her lips brush over his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw. But never his lips. Perhaps she could save them both if they never truly kissed. Jon let out a strangled noise, pulling her closer. Sansa felt his hands on her hips and when he moved them in a steady rhythm against his, she gasped at the feeling of his hardness pressing into her thigh.

“Do it, Jon," she said quietly, reaching down to hitch her skirts up higher on her thighs.

He pushed her back against the bed gently, unlacing his breeches as she wiggled out of her smallclothes. Sansa kept her eyes firmly on the ceiling, uncertain about whether she should look or not. It seemed better not to, for some reason. When he positioned himself between her legs, Sansa curled her fingers into the blankets beneath her. The feel of his arousal against her most intimate of places sent a curious warmth through her body that centered between her thighs. A warmth that she did not expect. Jon took himself in hand, pressing into her slowly. She let out a whimper at the stinging pain, squeezing her eyes shut as her body tried to adjust to the odd intrusion.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair.

Jon sounded as though he hated himself and she couldn’t have that. Sansa was the one who should be loathing herself, not him. Never him. He had done so much for her and still, she asked for more. Sansa stroked his hair with both hands, refusing to let any tears fall. She would be strong for both of them.

“I’m fine, Jon,” she said, lying more convincingly than she ever had. “You can move.”

Sansa had experienced worse pains at the hands of Joffrey’s guards, so when he moved within her, she kept herself from crying with ease. It ended quickly and she was thankful for it. Jon withdrew from her and turned over, staring up at the ceiling as she adjusted her skirts. Sansa knew that it was up to her reassure him. He felt everything so deeply. As deeply as she did. Sansa knew that now. As she turned towards him, she was surprised to see that he’d already laced up his breeches. Curling up against his side, Sansa reached up and laid her hand upon his cheek. Her heart ached fiercely when she felt that it was wet with tears.

“It’s all right, Jon,” she murmured, knowing that her words were hollow. “We’ll be all right.”

He shuddered at her words but folded her into his arms and held her close all the same.

*****

The next time, Jon stopped her as she began to pull her skirts up. Sansa looked up at him questioningly, wondering if he’d changed his mind. Perhaps once was enough, but they had both agreed in halting words that they should do it as much as possible, in the hopes that his seed might take root within her. When he pulled her up and off of the bed, she turned around without argument and allowed him to unlace her dress.

“What are you doing?” she sighed as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

Jon hesitated before pushing her dress down her body so that it pooled on the ground at her feet.

“It doesn’t have to be bad,” he said quietly, stroking his hands up and down her bare arms to warm her chilled skin.

Sansa allowed him to untie her shift next, lifting her arms over her head so that he could pull it off carefully. She knew that she should feel embarrassed at being so bared to him but after having him inside of her, it was hard to feel anything close to shame. Jon’s hands skimmed over her abdomen, the rough calluses on them a deep, lovely contrast to her soft skin. Sansa leaned her head back against his shoulder, letting out a soft moan when his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. Warmth flooded her body at his gentle treatment but when his finger lightly circled her nipple, hot sparks of pleasure shot straight to her lower belly.

“Jon,” she whimpered, unsure of what to do.

“It’s all right, Sansa,” Jon murmured in her ear.

She allowed him to turn her around and guide her to lay on the bed once more. Her hair fanned over the pillow as she looked up at him, her teeth pressing into her lower lip as his eyes took her in slowly. There, as his eyes grew ever darker, she saw desire. Sansa didn’t know what to make of it, trembling beneath his gaze. When he tugged his tunic up and over his head, she inhaled sharply at the sight of him, lean and yet strong with the scars of war writ upon his skin. Seeing him slide his breeches off made her flush from her cheeks down to her chest, her thighs pressing together as warmth pooled between them.

Jon climbed onto the bed, nudging her legs apart so that he could settle in the cradle of her hips. She could feel his arousal pressing against her thigh but he did not shed his smallclothes, choosing instead to press soft kisses along her throat. Sansa’s back arched towards him as his hands roamed her body, sliding up her sides as he nibbled at the hollow of her throat before trailing his lips to the valley of her breasts. Sansa’s chest heaved as she drew in deep breaths, her head swimming with lust at his touch. This never occurred to her when she first thought up this agreement. She never expected it to feel so... _good._

As his fingers deftly untied her smallclothes and tugged them down her slender legs, Sansa prepared herself for the stinging pain once more. Instead, her body twitched at the first touch of his fingers to her womanhood. He was gentle yet determined as his fingers parted her folds. His middle finger stroked up the length of her, making her cry out as he gathered her wetness before stroking a particularly sensitive spot. Jon froze for a moment before rubbing at the spot once more, his dark, intense gaze fixed upon her face. Sansa lifted her hips with a gasp, squeezing her eyes shut instinctively.

“Have you… done this... before?” she panted out, barely able to speak the words.

When he didn't answer for several moments, Sansa thought that he may never do so. But then he lowered, brushing a kiss over her cheek before whispering in her ear.

“No.”

Sansa clutched at his shoulders as he lowered his head and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to her chest. His fingers were still rubbing against her, making her whimper and moan as he nudged her towards something wonderful with each passing moment. Her entire body tightened, her eyes squeezing shut and her nails digging into his skin. Tighter and tighter, the hot coil clenched within her lower belly. Sansa felt too hot. Blood thrummed through her along with aching pleasure. Her toes curled. Her hips canted against his hand. Then it all came to a peak. With a breathless cry of his name, Sansa felt her release overwhelm her, her legs pulling together to trap his hand between as she sobbed out her pleasure.

Only when she collapsed on the bed with her limbs splayed and his name still on her lips did Jon slide his smallclothes off. She welcomed him into her arms and as he pressed into her this time, it did not hurt near as much as the first. Sansa pressed her lips to his shoulders, stroking her fingers over his back as he moved in and out of her at a steady pace. Yet again, it did not last long. He let out a hoarse shout of her name as he came, his seed filling her as his pace slowed and slowed until he stilled before pulling out.

Sensing that he might leave her, Sansa pulled him down to her chest without thinking, laying his head over her heart as she stroked her fingers through his hair. Jon hesitated for a moment, clearly surprised by her actions, before he wrapped his arms around her, his breath sending tingles over her skin. As he fell asleep against her, she was left with her thoughts and realized, with shock filling her, that she wished that it had lasted longer. She closed her eyes, praying that his seed took hold within her. And, in the darkness with no one else to hear, she prayed that her babe might one day look up at her with Stark grey eyes.

*****

They were only half a day’s ride from Riverrun, easily able to make it to her mother's childhood home before sunset if they wished it. Yet here they were, in the middle of the forest, the horse tied to one tree as Jon pressed her against another. Her dress lay discarded on the ground nearby and her shift was pushed up to her hips rather obscenely. Once, Sansa might have flushed and refused to even think of such a thing as this. Now, she could only relish every passing moment of it. Jon was on his knees before her, his head between her thighs as he worked her closer and closer to release. Sansa clutched at his hair, letting out hoarse cries and moans that encouraged his tongue to move quicker and his fingers to curl within her.

As she whimpered out her release with breathless abandon, working her hips against his mouth in a way that made his cock twitch within his breeches, Jon licked and kissed her slower and slower until he pulled away with naked lust in his eyes. Slumping to her knees, taking a moment to breathe before pushing him back on the forest floor with a grin. Jon followed willingly as her hands tugged at his laces, lifting his hips to let her peel away his breeches and underclothes in one go. He did not seem to mind the roots that dug into his back or the twigs entangling in his dark curls. All he could do was stare up at her in equal parts awe and desire. They both sighed when she took him in hand and sank down on him, quite used to the feeling of being joined so intimately now.

Sansa braced her hands on his chest, rocking her hips as he held them in a firm grip, guiding her into a heady rhythm. Sansa tossed her head back, whispering his name to the wind as Jon thrusted his hips against hers. When he pushed her shift up, she lifted her arms and shivered as Jon tossed it away before leaning up to take her nipple in his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue as his deft fingers teased the other. She let out a whimpered curse, her thighs tightening around his as they moved together as one. Jon kissed his way up her chest, nibbling at her pulse point and trailing his lips along her jaw. Yet they still did not kiss. It was a line they did not cross, lest they fall into the same trap as Cersei and Jaime.

“Gods, Sansa," he groaned out as she clenched around him.

“Jon I… I’m close… _please_ …” Sansa gasped out, digging her fingers into his shoulders.

Words slipped from his mouth, giving away the thoughts that betrayed him.

“Come for me, sweet girl. Let me give you pleasure. Let me spill within you and put a babe in you,” he said in a low, rough voice.

Her hips stuttered in their movements as she let out a low whine at his words, nodding her head desperately. As Sansa buried her face in his shoulder, peaking for a second time, Jon kept up his movements, holding her steady as he thrusted upwards until his seed spilled within her. They did not move for a long few minutes, still entangled with one another, lips pressed to heated skin and eyes closed tight against what tomorrow may bring. Finally, Jon eased back to lie down again and Sansa collapsed on his chest. Once they were recovered, she turned her head and pressed a kiss over his still racing heart.

“We are going to have to stop, aren’t we?” she said, somehow feeling quite bereft at the thought.

Jon didn’t reply, simply stroking her back with a gentle touch. Neither of them was willing to admit that they did not want it to stop, that they had found more than just convenience and escape in each other’s arms.

“We should go,” he finally sighed, knowing that they were only delaying the inevitable.

Sansa did not disagree, giving herself one more minute of this before rising up to find her clothing. Jon helped her, lacing her dress up and pulling the hood of her cloak over her hair. She turned to him with hesitation in her eyes before leaning up on her toes. Jon stood quite still with a stunned expression as she pressed her lips very lightly to the corner of his mouth. Sansa drew away with flushed cheeks, looking up at him shyly before walking to the horse. He did not move for several more moments, wondering if this was how the Kingslayer lost himself to the queen.

*****

True to her words, Sansa did not forgive Robb even as days and weeks passed. She spent almost all of her time with her mother. Lady Catelyn did not have a word to say to Jon, even when her daughter described how brave he was in freeing her from King's Landing. Yet every so often, when Jon happened to meet her eyes, he could have sworn that he saw gratitude in Catelyn's Tully blue gaze. Robb never said it, but he was relieved that Jon did what he did. As king, he could have never done it without losing the favor of his bannerman. But Jon knew that if he knew the truth, if Robb knew of what he’d done with their little sister, the King in the North might just relieve his bastard brother of his head.

When Jon was called into the private audience chamber within the castle a month after their return from King’s Landing, his eyes immediately found Sansa where she stood with her mother, tears streaming down her face. She looked truly devastated, her entire body trembling and her cheeks filled with splotches of red. Catelyn was crying as well, bemoaning the fate that befell her sweet girl. Robb was furious, his face as red as his hair and his hand gripping the pommel of his sword as he paced back and forth. Jon stopped short as their eyes all turned on him. For a moment, he was almost afraid that Sansa told the truth of their journey.

“Did you know of this?” his brother demanded, stepping towards him.

“What?” Jon asked, trying to calm his nerves.

Robb glanced at Sansa and she let out a sob, pressing a hand over her abdomen. That was when he knew.

“Those Lannister pricks let my little sister be dishonored and now—”

Robb couldn’t even finish, going back to pacing the room angrily. Jon looked at Sansa with questioning eyes, wanting to know if she was all right.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly, putting on the show of a concerned brother rather than a worried lover.

Sansa took a sharp breath, shaking her head.

“I did not want you to think any less of me. I thought that… I hoped that no one would have to know,” she let out a convincing sob, turning to bury her face in her mother’s shoulder.

Catelyn held her close, stroking her hair as she whispered reassurances to her. Jon looked at Robb, knowing that this only fueled the fire. Whereas he might have traded the Kingslayer to retain his crown, now he was likely intent on destroying every Lannister that he came across. Jon did not want to be Jaime Lannister that day, for he would surely not survive the war now.

*****

He knew that he should have been expecting her to seek him out that night. Yet he did not realize that she was in his chambers until the bed dipped next to him with the weight of another. Jon turned over, looking up at her as she slid her fingers into his hair. Sansa bent down, pressing her lips to his forehead.

“I have missed you,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly as if she feared that he may turn her away.

Jon sighed, pulling her to him without hesitation. Sansa laid with her head on his chest, sleepily trailing her fingers over his bare chest.

“I wanted to tell you first," Sansa said regretfully, her thumb soothing one of his scars. "But when the maester confirmed it, my mother heard from a maid that he visited my chambers. She wanted to know why.”

He shushed her, murmuring reassurances that eased her worries. After a while, Sansa pushed up onto her elbows, her hair brushing his chest as her hand pressed over his cheek.

“I hope that our child looks like you,” she whispered, entrusting the words to him alone.

Before he had a chance to say a word, she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth in the same spot as before. Then she was gone and the only evidence of that she was ever there was the sweet smell of her soap lingering in the air.

*****

The curve of Sansa's belly was just slightly pronounced when Howland Reed came to Riverrun with a small army at his back and the truth about Jon’s parentage. He told them all at once, explaining to the remaining Starks that Ned vowed to keep it a secret, not wanting his nephew to be killed in the same manner as the other Targaryen children. Catelyn cried, stunned and devastated that her beloved husband kept such a secret for so long. Robb remained silent, his gaze focused on the floor. Tears shone in Sansa’s eyes as she looked at Jon and he looked back. His life was a lie, a falsehood perpetuated by the man he thought was his father.

Yet in that moment, all that he could think of was that they were not the Lannisters and that his child would not be a bastard. He knew that Sansa’s thoughts mirrored his own. How could they not? That night, Robb declared him the rightful King of Westeros. Jon watched as men bowed to him, falling to their knees and laying their swords at his feet without truly knowing what to feel. When he retired to his chambers, it did not take long for the door to open once more behind him. Jon did not move for several moments, staring out of the window at the army that was now at his command. When he turned, Jon saw that Sansa hovered at the door. Several moments passed in heavy silence before her lips twitched into a small smile.

“It turns out that one of us is a Targaryen after all.”

Jon huffed out a soft laugh before stepping towards her, hesitating in his path to see what she might do. Sansa closed the rest of the distance between them quickly, throwing herself into his arms as her lips finally found his. Jon carried her to the bed without shame, stripping away her dress and shift before pressing kisses to every inch of her that he could find. Once he’d tasted her and buried himself in her, bringing them both as much pleasure as possible, Jon laid at her side with his hands on her stomach and his mouth whispering soft words to their future child. Sansa's fingers stroked through his hair in a soothing motion as she listened to every word he spoke with a full heart.

“I love you,” he said quietly after a time, looking up at her with eyes that reflected such love.

The words did not damn him, nor did they hurt him to say. When a bright smile formed on her face, lighting up her eyes, he knew that they were the right words.

“I love you too,” Sansa murmured, stroking his cheek.

“Will you be my wife, then?” Jon asked.

Her answering kiss was all that he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you think!


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